


A Day in the Life

by DarkAkumaHunter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Living Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 12:39:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4435835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAkumaHunter/pseuds/DarkAkumaHunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little scenes of domestic life.</p><p>Part One - Stiles and Scott</p><p>Part Two - Lydia and Jordan</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day in the Life

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [this post](http://lyrium-melodies.tumblr.com/post/124564810546/sciles) and the questions associated with it. Basically it was me putting my answers into story form. I didn't do all of them, so you can read the post for the rest.
> 
> I'm going to do one for Lydia and Parrish as well, eventually. I'm just not sure when I'll get around to it.

Loving each other came as naturally as breathing. They’d been together so long that neither could feasibly imagine a future that didn’t include the other. Somewhere along the line that friendship had turned to affection, which in turn amassed into a love so deep they barely noticed it happening. A natural progression.

Even before then, Scott and Stiles had talked about living together. The way they had grown up, lives semi-intertwined with each other, had done surprisingly little to prepare them for the realities of true cohabitation.

The little things they had always known about each other, and things they hadn’t, came to the forefront in unexpected ways.

**oOoOo**

Stiles threw himself headfirst into things with a single-minded determination and focus that Scott had always admired and respected. But Scott had never truly understood what that meant until they were spending every night under the same roof.

Stiles’ drive was unshakeable. Once he committed himself to something there was no going back. And that meant forgoing things like food, and sleep. The food situation could be easily rectified: if Scott put something in front of him, then, even with his eyes glued to his laptop or head buried in some ancient tome, Stiles would eat it. It was like an automatic function. Sleep, however, had to come on its own.

Scott learned fairly quickly that it was easiest to just leave Stiles to it. He’d camp out in the living room for long hours while Scott went to bed at a reasonable hour because, werewolf or no, he liked getting a normal amount of sleep whenever possible. And Stiles was good at running on auto, running on fumes. But the crash had to come eventually and, inevitably, Stiles would always see it coming too late.

Scott would find him sleeping sprawled across the couch come morning, laptop on the floor or the coffee table, the distance from the couch indicative of how exhausted Stiles had been when he finally gave up.

**oOoOo**

Stiles swore their neighbours hated him.

The little old lady next door always smiled so sweetly at Scott whenever they crossed paths near the letterboxes, and they talked about who knows what for long minutes while Stiles watched, in a totally not creepy way, from inside the house. Whenever she saw _him_ she always gave him this _look_ , like he kicked puppies for fun, and hurried inside.

Maybe he’d gotten off on the wrong foot when he went off on a rant upon noticing a potentially-harmful-to-werewolves plant in her garden – though he was no plant expert and Scott probably would have told him if he’d smelt something he was allergic to. It was just, it had been a valid concern, even if she hadn’t understood that. They hadn’t parted on good terms that day, and she hadn’t spoken to him since.

Oh well. It wasn’t like he was suffering for it. She gave Scott baking sometimes, and there was nothing she could do to stop Stiles from eating it.

**oOoOo**

Stiles had always been somewhat of a survival cook. He could cook, but only the basics, enough to get by but not enough to be exciting. Scott, on the other hand, had never really needed to spend much time figuring out how to cook before leaving home. Despite Melissa’s busy schedule she had almost always made sure there was something for Scott to eat, and when there wasn’t, he just made sandwiches.

Throw them together, and the common meals around the McCall-Stilinski residence were macaroni cheese and lasagne. And that was fine, for the most part. But once a month they picked a restaurant in town, at random, and they both ordered the strangest thing they could find on the menu.

Stiles would never live down the day he’d accidentally chosen one of the spiciest things on offer at an Indian restaurant. He’d cried while eating it, unable to prevent the tears as his mouth burned. Scott had been a perfect gentleman about it – until they got home, where he’d burst into unapologetic laughter.

Stiles got back at him with an overdose of chili powder mixed into the guacamole next time they had nachos – only Scott ate the guacamole, and he hadn’t suspected a thing.

**oOoOo**

Sharing a bed had taken a lot of getting used to. Scott slept like a log, but Stiles had always been the fidgety sort, tossing and turning, sprawling and curling in on himself. He was also a notorious blanket hog. Scott though, the bloody living heater, never seemed to notice.

In the summer, Scott was a menace. He didn’t mean to be, but there was no turning off the heat he radiated. So summer tended to mean there were no blankets at all, and if there was a chill in the air, Stiles would gladly wrap himself around Scott – or tuck himself under Scott’s arms, he wasn’t fussy – for that little extra heat.

It was always easier to fall asleep anyway, pressed together.

**oOoOo**

They don’t fight about chores, but it’s a near thing, and it’s likely only because Scott’s so damned kind and patient and forgiving that things never escalate.

It’s pretty much always Stiles’ fault.

Scott’s like a walking to-do list. Stiles imagines him making mental ticks against things as he completes them. Maybe, he’ll admit, if he spent less time thinking about and watching Scott do things, and more time thinking about himself, he’d remember that there were things he was supposed to do too.

But no matter how many times he tells himself that, Stiles still forgets. He’ll walk into the kitchen at 10 or 11 at night, for a glass of water or some late night snackage, and the dishes will be laid out on the bench waiting for him to wash them.

Scott never complains when he finds Stiles washing them in the morning, but Stiles feels bad every time, regardless.

**oOoOo**

Scott found it hilarious that Stiles would only sing in the shower when he thought Scott wasn’t home. He’d discovered it quite by accident one day, when he came home quite a bit earlier than normal, only to hear Stiles caught up in a rendition of We Are The Champions.

Stiles wasn’t even a bad singer. He wasn’t wonderful, but he was far from tone deaf, and even if he _had_ been tone deaf it was still sort of adorable. Scott never told him he knew, because he didn’t want him to stop.

If he started sneaking home unannounced more often, well, it was always worth the surprised looks to catch a few lines of song. Stiles always sounded so carefree like that. It was something Scott wanted to treasure.

**oOoOo**

Living together was a hassle. It was ups and downs and sometimes it was a complete mess. But they’d never regret it. Because it was everything they wanted, everything they could be and had been and were, it was full of _possibility_ and _promise_.

It was a future.

It was them.


End file.
